


Ganymede

by jayeinacross



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross/pseuds/jayeinacross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosely based on/inspired by the Greek myth of Zeus and Ganymede.</p><p>Ganymede, the most beautiful of mortals, was taken by Zeus to Olympus, where he served as Zeus’ cup-bearer. Zeus loved him so much that he granted Ganymede eternal youth and immortality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ganymede

**Author's Note:**

> Set in some AU where Tim is around 18-19 years of age, and Damian is somewhat older than that, but due to Lazarus pits etc. nobody really knows. Damian is the head of the al Ghul family now and the League of Shadows.
> 
> The violence isn't really that graphic, but I just wanted to be safe.

_Ganymede, the most beautiful of mortals, was taken by Zeus to Olympus, where he served as Zeus’ cup-bearer. Zeus loved him so much that he granted Ganymede eternal youth and immortality._

***

Smears of blood appear on Timothy’s face when Talia slaps him across the face, her sharp nails breaking the skin.

“My son could have had any man or woman in this world,” Talia says coldly. She reaches out and grabs Timothy’s chin roughly, jerking it up and forcing him to look at her. “And yet he chose you.”

She pushes him away, and he stumbles, but is steadied by an arm around his slim waist.

“Mother.” Damian glares at Talia. “Do not touch Timothy.”

Talia’s mouth twists into an unpleasant expression, but she cannot say anything. Damian is the Demon’s Head now, and Talia can sense that her son will not hesitate to punish her should she harm the boy. She turns on her heel and walks away, shaking her head, long dark hair swaying as she does so.

Damian takes him into his private quarters to treat the wounds. Timothy stays silent, barely meeting Damian’s eyes. The only sound he makes is the tiny involuntary hiss that escapes his lips when Damian touches the deep scratches on his face.

He whispers an apology for the pain to Timothy, who still does not respond. He has not said a single word since he was taken to the Demon’s Head’s home. Damian is fuming silently, furious that his mother had dared to lay a hand on Timothy. She will not be allowed near him in the future, Damian will make sure of it.

Timothy sleeps in the room adjacent to Damian’s room, but separate. The boy is too uncomfortable already in Damian’s presence; he needs privacy. Damian always listens for any sound, but Timothy still does not speak, even when alone. The only noise is from Timothy moving about, but even those sounds are few and quiet.

The only duties that Timothy is required to perform are to act as Damian’s cup-bearer and to accompany him whenever Damian wishes it. Simple tasks, but ones that are held in incredibly high esteem nonetheless.

Everybody questions the Demon’s Head’s choice, though never to his face. Whispered conversations in the hallways that are hushed when footsteps near, or silent looks of surprise, disbelief, scorn, exchanged when eyes are turned away. Why does the Demon’s Head trust the mute boy so much?

Talia is louder in her disagreement, demanding her son to tell her what it is about Timothy that makes him believe that he is trustworthy.

“It is none of your concern, Mother.” The ice in Damian’s voice was all learned from Talia. A mother who cared less about her son than how she could use him.

He will not be like his mother.

“You have no good reason to trust the boy--”

“You will not question me,” Damian thunders, and Talia stops short. She turns pale at the fury she can see in her son’s expression. She leaves quickly at Damian’s hiss of “Get out.”

Damian spots Timothy standing halfway behind one of the doors, peering in. When Timothy walks over after Damian beckons to him, Damian apologizes for the scene. “I am sorry you had to see that,” he murmurs.

Timothy just gives a little shrug.

“Is there anything you needed, Timothy? Anything I can do for you?”

Timothy shakes his head, and Damian lets him go back to his own room. Watching him go, Damian sighs. It has been three months since he first brought Timothy here. And he still has not said a word to anyone. Perhaps the trauma of being taken from his home has turned him mute. Or perhaps it is just what Timothy has chosen to do.

That evening, Timothy is sitting by Damian’s side as usual at supper with members of the council when the boy suddenly seizes Damian’s wrist and stops him from drinking from his goblet.

There are several gasps from around the table. The boy had touched the Demon’s Head without permission, a punishable offense. But Damian does not mind, and he knows that there was a reason. A very good reason.

“That man.” Timothy points to a robed official at the other end of the table.

Gasps, again. Timothy’s voice is rough from disuse, but clear and loud enough that everyone can hear. This is the first time since he came here, that he has spoken. The first time that anyone has heard his voice in three months.

Continuing, Timothy says, “He threatened a man who works in the kitchens. Made him poison the wine.”

More gasps. Damian does not make such an undignified sound, but he raises his eyebrows at Timothy, who looks back earnestly. “I swear it.”

Glancing over at the man Timothy had indicated, it is clear that the boy is telling the truth. None of the men in this room are particularly trustworthy, and this man is definitely not. Damian nods at the guards who have been closing in on the traitor, and they seize him instantly, dragging him away.

Damian rises, and indicates to Timothy to follow him, leaving the others and going to Damian’s private room.

“How did you know?”

Timothy gives a tiny smile. “I’m very quiet.”

“You saw the exchange? Or the act?”

“Both. For an assassin, the traitor is not very careful.”

Damian smiles at Timothy, who ducks his head. Reaching out to brush the long strands of hair that have fallen to cover Timothy’s deep blue eyes, Damian murmurs, “Thank you.”

“You would not have died. It was a terrible plan.”

“Nevertheless.”

Reaching down to take Timothy’s hand in his own, Damian draws it to his lips, kissing the soft skin.

Blushing, Timothy bites his lip, starts to speak, then stops. “I...”

“What is it?”

“I. Would like to request something.”

“Anything.”

Timothy’s lips quirk upwards into a smile. “ _Anything_ is a dangerous word...my lord.”

Damian shakes his head dismissively at the title that others call him. “Call me by my name.”

Red rises high on Timothy’s cheekbones and Damian smirks, but the boy obliges. “...Damian. I will ask you not to kill the servant who was forced to poison you.”

Arching a brow, Damian watches Timothy carefully. An odd request from anyone else, perhaps, but not so surprising considering Timothy’s background. “Of course. And what of the traitor?”

“I understand that you have to set an example.” Timothy shrugs. “Though if you plan on extracting information from him, may I also request that I be allowed to attempt it?”

Damian nods. Now, that is a strange request, but Damian nods anyway. He is interested to see why Timothy has asked this of him - and what he will do. He excuses Tim and allows him to retreat to the privacy of his own room.

The next morning, Damian watches Timothy through the surveillance cameras. Watches as he stands, completely still and expressionless, while the captive traitor shouts abuse at him. Timothy does not respond, just watches him carefully for a time.

When Timothy finally moves, it is to deal a quick, sharp jab to the traitor’s throat, who starts to choke and cough. Timothy asks a question, the traitor spits at him and growls a profanity. Damian finds himself rising from his seat, ready to kill the man for his disrespect, but Timothy delivers another jab, this time to the traitor’s left eye.

The traitor howls hoarsely and rocks back in forth in his chair, but still doesn’t answer the question, even when Timothy asks again. 

Damian watches.Watches until Timothy is finally done, leaves the traitor bleeding on the floor. The man isn’t dead, no, not at all.

He’ll just be in a significant amount of pain for the rest of his life - which isn’t going to be for very long anyway.

When Damian returns to his room, Timothy is waiting there for him, sitting on the edge of his bed. Timothy tells him of what he discovered from the traitor; that there was another man working with him.

“Even with two of them, they could not devise an even slightly successful plan.” Damian’s comment draws a smile from Timothy. “Thank you. I will deal with them.”

Timothy nods, then rises and leaves, passing close to Damian as he does so, their arms touching. Damian turns his head to watch him go, but Timothy does not look back.

It is another week of quiet, sparse speech until Timothy again willingly touches Damian. It is during Damian’s daily visit to Timothy, to make sure that he is content enough, and that nobody is troubling him.

Damian touches Timothy’s hand, and the murmur of “Beloved” slips out. Damian wishes fervently that he could snatch the words back, because Timothy is only just beginning to open up to him, and he’ll loathe himself if he’s just ruined it. But Timothy just blushes and tangles his fingers with Damian’s for a moment, only a moment, before pulling his hand back and looking away.

Three days later, another assassination is attempted, this one closer to success than the one that Timothy had prevented. Damian is fine, but Timothy, for once, is not with him, and all he hears are whispers of the danger, but he is ordered to stay away when he tries to find Damian. And without Damian with him to make sure nobody means him harm, all he can do is wait.

And wait he does. For hours, until Damian finally returns.

Damian is seething, but his anger seems to face when he enters his room and sees Timothy curled up asleep on his bed. He approaches as quietly as he can, but Timothy has always been a light sleeper, and he wakes when Damian sits on the bed next to him.

After blinking blearily a few times, Timothy realizes that it is Damian in front of him. Then before Damian can even fully comprehend that Timothy is really there, there are soft lips against Damian’s. Damian only hesitates a moment before returning the kiss, hauling Timothy into his lap. Eventually Timothy pulls away with one sharp little nip to Damian’s lower lip, and they rest their foreheads together.

“I. Are you well?” Timothy asks breathlessly. 

Damian snatches another quick kiss before replying. “I am. And you?”

“Better than well, I should think, now that you are here,” Timothy murmurs. He leans in and brushes his lips against Damian’s again, their eyes drifting shut. Chaste at first, the kiss grows deeper, more frantic. Tim wraps his arms tight around Damian’s neck, who lifts him and lowers him onto his back.

As his hands wander, Damian whispers hotly in Timothy’s ear; sweet endearments and sultry promises alike. It’s not long before Timothy is panting, one leg hooked around Damian’s waist, gladly and eagerly giving in to Damian.

Everyone notices the change in both Timothy and Damian after that night. Damian is happier, though no less powerful and ruthless for it, only more passionate and driven. And not only is Timothy now Damian’s official consort, word has spread of how he dealt with the traitor - sacrificed his own safety and interrogated him mercilessly until he gave up, all for the sake of his lord.

Timothy speaks more often, too. He is soft-spoken, and mostly only talks to Damian, but the difference is clear. He is happy, too.

Eventually, everyone is won over. They stop envying Timothy, stop belittling him, and start admiring him.

Almost everyone.

Talia still loathes him, but there is nothing that she can do. Her attempts to dissuade her son’s favour away from Timothy failed at the beginning, and it certainly will not succeed now. Nothing she can do will stop Damian from loving Timothy.

Nothing anyone can do will stop him.

Nothing at all - not even death.

Damian is somewhat reluctant to expose Timothy to something as dangerous as the Lazarus Pit, let alone allow him to be submerged in it completely. But Timothy is insistent, and it does not take much for Damian to fold. This is the only way they will be together forever, and that is what they both want.

What they both need.

“My beloved,” Damian pulls Timothy close against his chest to feel their hearts beat together, to whisper into his hair. “Dear heart. Are you...this...”

Timothy pulls away, just enough to be able to look up into Damian’s eyes. “My love. My lord. I am sure.”

He pulls Damian down for a long kiss before they entwine their fingers and stand by the Pit.

They enter together.

And they will come out together.

Or not at all.


End file.
